


Rebuild

by psyraah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyraah/pseuds/psyraah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's been pain and fear and terrible uncertainty, but now that they've lived through it, there's time, at last, to breathe and heal. </p><p>And love, because Maria's home, and Riza's whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebuild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xyriath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/gifts).



> An early birthday present for The Nern

How much more?

How much more weight could the world _possibly_ give her, before she broke, iron spine and rigid resolve succumbing to violent pressure?

First, she’d lost a friend, an old friend, a dear friend who’d managed to drag her through more days than she could count, and now—

Dead and gone, and how could Roy _do_ this to her?

She’d heard it through _whispers_. His right hand, his most trusted advisor (she was meant to be a trusted _friend_ ) and she had found out that he’d made a move from awed murmurs from the mess hall, which she wouldn’t have heard had she not stayed back. Doing work for him. Following orders, _believing_ him.

Not that much progress had been made since she’d found out. As soon as she had, her food had been abandoned, and she’d torn her way back up to the office, only to find that it was still empty, because Roy was…out. On a mission for vengeance that she’d been so stupidly ignorant of.

When the office door clicked open, she was on him.

Ignoring the fatigue in his eyes—permanent these days—she grabbed him by the collar to slam his up against the wall before he'd even opened his mouth, her title dying unspoken.

“You killed Maria Ross.”

“Hawkeye, what is this—”

“You murdered her.”

There was alarm in the slight crease of his brows. “I apprehended a criminal,” he said slowly, confused.

Riza choked out a laugh at that, and Roy's eyes widened in alarm. "Apprehended? You _murdered_ her, Colonel, you know damn well that you of all people don't just apprehend anyone."

Roy froze, and any other day, she would’ve been more careful, would never have brought up the smears of his past and the burden of corpses. But now, now she searched his face, _needed_ to know, desperate for something, anything, to tell her that her best friend hadn't torn her life apart. Hadn’t taken one of the best things to happen to her in this god forsaken world.

But there was nothing. At least, none of what she was looking for, no remorse, nor guilt. Just determination. And...something else, in the way he held her gaze steady.

Roy lifted a hand to the one still clenched around his collar, and gently lowered it.

“I _apprehended_ a criminal,” he said quietly, and his eyes were steady on hers, as though willing her to understand something.

Apprehended. He’d emphasised the apprehended, but her mind was still far too fatigued from, from _Maes_ and the sleepless nights and now _Maria_ , and why couldn’t this man just say something that was easy to understand for once in their lives?

“You…apprehended,” she said slowly, and there was still something missing.

( _Maria was missing, with her bright smile and the way she would bellow Riza’s name in a crowded place_.)

“Yes.” Her hands were clenched by her sides now, instead of around Roy’s collar, but he hadn’t moved aside. “My methods might have been unconventional for the task, but I found her. And stopped her.”

Not killed, then, Riza realised. Stopped. Apprehended.

Not dead.

She let her fists unclench. “Why wasn't I informed?” she asked, still hurt, still not believing that Roy would keep her in the dark.

“I had to move quickly, just in case Ross had contacts. Although, the guards made sure she had little chance of outside contact,” he said, meaningfully. “Wasn't much opportunity to get in touch with anyone, any of her friends. Yet somehow, she did.” He paused, flipped over the paper still lying on his desk that had announced Maes Hughes' death. “Must've had someone on the outside.”

Riza swallowed. “Mustn’t have been someone particularly intelligent, if you managed to catch her.”

Judging by the way Roy’s mouth twitched, he hadn’t missed the dryness in her voice. “Correct, Lieutenant. Quite sloppy, if you ask me.”

Now that Riza was certain Maria was all right—though she still had questions, but that could wait until herself and Roy were sure of their secrecy—she was suddenly exhausted. Heaving a sigh, she tugged at the buttons of her collar—all of a sudden too tight; she needed to breathe—and collapsed into Roy’s chair. Her superior had no complaints, instead just seating himself on the dusty surface of the desk, disregarding the pen that clattered to the floor.

It was quiet for a while. They needed…god, _she_ just needed a moment of peace, and Riza let her head fall back against the chair, her eyes sliding shut. There hadn’t even been time to process what had happened to Maes before word about Maria had come in, and there had been no time for her, for any of them, to simply just…stop.

She gave herself that moment now, though it couldn’t be for long; there was work to do, and Hayate was waiting for her. Part of her wanted to scream and rage at how _unfair_ it all was, because it could _never_ be for long.

But Roy knew all that already. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been running himself ragged as much as she was, and she let herself relax (if only for a moment) for him as much as herself. Roy was here, and despite the man’s idiocy and bouts of stupidity (and _oversight_ in not telling his second-in-command of his plans), she trusted him absolutely.

So she let her mind wander, thought of Maria. Making leaf piles in the autumn, snowmen in the winter, how Maria would pout after Hayate had gotten wet from a storm and shaken water all over her. How completely childish she was, when she tapped Riza on the shoulder and pretended it wasn’t her, all wide eyes and innocence. How they could pass time, content to talk about everything, content not to talk at all, and—

God, she _missed_ her so much.

Suddenly, there was an ache in Riza’s chest, a lump in her throat as she thought about four weeks ago, when Maria had still been with her, and there was always dinner to look forward to on Thursday night because that was _their_ night, and now there just…wasn’t. Where there had been something in Riza’s life, now there was just this, this _lack_ , and it ached.

She blinked her eyes open when she realised Roy had said something.

“Pardon?”

“Why were you so worried?” Roy repeated quietly.

It was far too innocent, the way he was looking at her, the curious gaze he directed her way. Beneath it all, she felt something like amusement. _Like you need to ask_ , she thought. He was most of the way there anyway. “We were…close,” she answered carefully. “It’s difficult to learn that one of your closest friends is hiding something from you.”

Roy cleared his throat, and bent to pick up the pen from the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He hesitated, then tapped the pen lightly against the back of her hand, where it rested on the table. An absentminded action, if Roy let any action of his be absentminded anymore, what with the constant tension around them.

“You should be able to trust friends. I’m sorry.”

She let herself be content with the small gesture; she hadn’t seen him touch anyone since Maes had died.

Roy cleared his throat. “I believe Fullmetal and Major Armstrong are journeying east soon. If you have any friends out there that you’d need to write to, I’m sure they’d be happy to deliver a message. If you wanted to write a letter.”

“East?”

Roy caught her eye. Nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Slowly, the clamouring knot of emotions started to untangle, ever so slightly.

“I think I will.”

* * *

And she had, and the first time she received a letter back, the writing so wonderfully familiar, she almost wept. It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Roy when he told her that he hadn’t killed Maria, but to _know_ that she was safe, to know that Riza still had her, even though they were separated by spans of desert, was achingly bittersweet.

All their correspondence is sitting in the desk now; coded promises, affection hidden between words of mundane tasks as Riza addressed a ‘childhood friend’. She kept every single sheet of paper that had come her way, scarce though they were, kept safe inside the drawer of the desk she’s currently seated on, Maria once again wrapped up wonderfully in her arms with her lips on Riza’s.

“I missed you,” Riza murmurs between fevered kisses, bringing her lips to press desperately against Maria’s cheek. “I missed you so much.” It’s a miracle to have her back again, and Riza runs her lips over the smoothness of dark hair and just _breathes_ , remembering the scent of Maria’s skin (so wonderfully _familiar_ ), revels in the way her arms squeeze tightly around Riza’s waist.

“I know.” Maria’s voice is rough in her ear, hoarse with emotion. “I know, I missed you right back, I thought about you ever damn day.” Maria draws back, despite how Riza clings to her, gently coaxes Riza away so that those beautiful eyes—so alive, so _real_ and Riza hadn’t thought she would ever see them again—settle on her own.

“I love you.”

Riza’s breath catches, and Maria strokes her cheek gently. Plants a kiss there to take root and bloom, grow back into the feeling of home and family once more.

“Every night I was away, I just—I just wanted _you_ to be there.” Maria’s voice is barely a whisper, but every word lands straight in Riza’s soul. “I just kept thinking, if I could get to hold Riza’s hand now then everything would be okay.”

Riza leans forward, presses her forehead against Maria’s. Holds her tighter because she _can_ ; she’s here now, and they’re together. There are still be things to fix, months of long absence and heartache to make up for. But now they’re home—the both of them—and they can start.

“I know,” Riza says quietly. “I know. There were so many times when I just—when it looked like it might be the end, and I just thought about you. Just wanted to see you again.” She smiles shakily, then closes her eyes when Maria leans forward, her lips once again moving over Riza’s, beautiful, a little rough with desperation. Riza sighs into the kiss, and pulls Maria closer, not wanting a breath of space between them.

“You should—” Maria begins, but Riza interrupts with another heated kiss, and Maria just melts in her arms. One hand cups the back of Riza’s neck, another rests against her cheek, and then Maria’s fingers are wonderfully, wonderfully light as they trace patterns down Riza’s neck, stroking soothing circles in her skin.

Then Maria draws back, her fingers hovering over the space just above Riza’s collarbone.

Where the scar is still healing.

“You should rest,” Maria says eventually, her eyes on the mark that the little Xingese girl hadn’t entirely been able to erase. Oh, how Riza _hates_ seeing that expression on Maria’s face: brows drawn together, and how her smile is a thousand miles away from that pretty mouth, the tense line of her jaw.

Wanting to comfort, Riza covers Maria’s hand with her own, and tries to let the gesture tell everything that would sound so cheap if she were to put them to words— _it’s okay now, we’re home, you’re safe, and we’re together, it’s okay now_. She knows the fear—she’d felt it herself, those many months ago when she’d been confronted with the rumours of a blackened corpse of a disgraced fugitive. And when she’d been lying in the dank underground with the cold drag of concrete beneath her cheek and her blood spilling across the stone like some surreal nightmare, she’d only had the one thought sustaining her and keeping her eyes stubbornly open:

 _I need to go home_.

“So should you,” she says, sliding off where she was seated on the desk. She lifts Maria’s hands to her lips, gently kisses the knuckles.

(Maria’s fingers are rougher, a little more calloused than Riza remembers, and briefly she wonders what else has changed.)

“You hiked across the desert, _twice_ ; you must be tired as well.”

“Mmm, the camel did most of the hiking.” Despite the protest, Maria lowers their hands and starts leading Riza towards their bedroom, the clicking of Hayate’s nails following their footsteps faithfully.

“All the same.” Riza loops her arm around Maria’s waist, squeezing tight to draw out a yelp of protest. “Bed, cuddles, and then tomorrow we can just make some pancakes.”

Maria groans. “God, I _missed_ your pancakes.”

It’s easy to smile, and the fact that it’s easy is such a relief. “Then let’s get to bed,” Riza says, jabbing Maria with an elbow.

So they do, and Riza feels herself getting ridiculously emotional over the familiarity of it all. After months and months on end of constant fear and jumping at shadows, of missing pieces of herself that she wasn’t allowed to mourn, she’s finally herself again, and her apartment feels like home at long last. There’s a body next to hers as they brush their teeth together, elbows bumping, mumbled apologies as one reaches in front of the other for a hairbrush or a towel.

Then legs are tangled between sheets and the light turned off, and Riza has her arm draped around Maria’s middle, and Maria’s hand is nestled in golden hair. There are more gentle kisses, and fingers wander, as though neither believes that the other is with them unless there is the solidity and reality of touch. Their sheets shuffle around. The clock is ticking faintly, and a soft _whumph_ tells them that Hayate has settled down for the night.

Riza lets her eyes flutter shut, perfectly content in the moment. This is her family, and home is wrapped up safe in the sleepy murmurs of “I love you” and “good night” as Riza slips away into the darkness that she no longer has to fear.


End file.
